


Hold Your Tongue

by missingnolovefic, WashYourSinfulHands



Series: Mad Nobility [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Blood and Gore, Dark, F/M, Gore, Mad King Ryan, Mad Queen Mica, Minor Character Death, they definitely earn the title of 'Mad'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7314442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashYourSinfulHands/pseuds/WashYourSinfulHands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baron Nutt dares to insult the Queen to her face. He doesn't live long to tell the tale.</p><p>Meanwhile Ryan might be falling a little bit in love with the Queen. Just a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> HEED THE TAGS. Seriously, this is full of graphic blood and gore.

“What did you say?”

The Queen’s clear voice echoed through the throne hall, cutting through the excited chatter of the nobility gathered there. All eyes turned to Mica as she calmly leaned forward, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Lord Nutt, I asked you a question.”

Muffled laughter broke out among the lords and ladies closest to the Baron, having clearly caught his remark before. The Queen remained expressionless, her gaze fixed on Lord Nutt. The titters and whispers slowly died off, and a tense silence descended.

“Lord Nutt,” Mica repeated silkily, standing up from her throne and gliding down the steps, the precise clicks of her footsteps piercing through the nervous atmosphere that had settled in the room. “I asked you to speak up.”

The Baron sneered, stepping in front of his peers.

“Your Highness,” he addressed the Queen, bowing shallowly. “It is with the deepest respect and love for this kingdom that I wish to convey to the crown the incongruous state of propriety in this court, the decorum of which should be our prerogative to maintain. It is unacceptable for my peers and I to acknowledge the presence of such a dark stain in our history amongst our midst, least of all the absurdity in defering to its judgement.”

He paused, head held high, as gasps and furious whispers spread through the assembly.

“Do you wish me to repeat myself again?” he jeered, his lips curling in disgust, “Perhaps use smaller words this time?”

The court took a collective breath, time hanging still in the room for what seemed like an eternity, all eyes darting between the Queen and the Lord.

Then the Queen strode forth, her skirts swishing around her legs as she swept across the floor, coming to a halt in front of the sneering Baron.

“Repeat it,” Mica dared him calmly as she placed one hand delicately on the hilt of her weapon, it’s dark scabbard glinting slightly. “Maybe your words will make more sense to _someone like me_ then.”

The Queen drew her sword, and the nobles who’d jockeyed for a place in the front scattered like a flock of birds startled into flight.

“Repeat it, Lord Nutt,” Mica said flatly, her blade catching the light of the candles. “I don’t think I quite understand.”

“I- it is ben-neath my d-dignity-” he stuttered, eyes wide. Mica pressed the needle thin point of her sword to his jugular, and he swallowed reflexively, a bead of red welling up on his pasty skin and rolling down his neck.

“Lord Nutt,” she simpered, before her features went hard. “That’s an order.”

The Baron paled, stumbling over his words as he tried to get his previous statement together again, all thought fleeing in the face of the Queen’s icy wrath.

“...ach-acknowledge the p-presence of,” he whispered, shrinking away from Mica’s sword, sweat dripping down his forehead. “B-barbaric- to d-def-fer-”

Finally, the Queen lost her patience, sneering at the gibbering mess of a man. She pulled off the glove of her free hand with her teeth, flinging it at the Baron with a turn of her head, her vibrant curls bouncing with the sharp movement. It struck Nutt squarely in the face. The entire room inhaled sharply.

“I challenge thee, Baron Nutt, for insulting my character and honor,” she spat, sword slashing down with a glint to quiver at her side. “Prepare yourself, for I shall not be satisfied until your traitorous blood drenches these halls.”

A hush fell over the court. Baron Nutt desperately turned to the King, but the plea died on his lips as he met the King’s dark, considering gaze. Ryan waved at a servant, who quickly bowed and hurried off. They returned in due haste and presented the Baron with a rapier of reasonable quality.

The herald stepped forward swiftly, clearing his throat. He glanced nervously at the King and received a nod.

“Queen Mica has challenged Baron Nutt over insults witnessed by this court,” he declared loudly, voice booming through the hall. “On the King’s mark, begin.”

Ryan fished out a crimson handkerchief, and his gaze locked with the Queen’s. A breathless moment passed by, and then the red cloth was drifting lazily to the floor.

The second the cloth settled down, Mica darted forward. Steel clashed on steel, the Baron dripping sweat in great globules of liquid and barely able to meet the Queen’s precise, powerful strikes. Nutt scrambled backwards, only just raising his sword in time to deflect a blow to his chest.

With a great roar he sprang forward, rapier carving wildly through the air as Mica gracefully danced out of the way of his blows. He feinted a stumble, dropping to his knee and ducking his head down. However, when the Queen closed in, sword curving upward in a backhand strike, he raised his sword and jabbed forward, an ugly grin contorting his face.

Mica jumped back, a piece of her white dress fluttering to the ground. Where the sword tip had grazed her stomach, blood pooled in the scratch, slowly dripping down and drenching the frayed edges of her dress a deep burgundy.

With a snarl Mica lunged forward, her sword landing a handful of cuts in a flurry across the Baron’s chest and arms. Falling back onto his rear he scrabbled backwards from the imperious fury of the Queen, pleading and sobbing for his life as a quick thrust and parry from Mica’s skilled hand sent his rapier skittering across the floor.

Ryan watched as Mica’s blade arced in a flash through the flabby neck of Lord Nutt, skewering him squarely in his trachea, the shining rapier penetrating through to the other side of his throat, the chrome steel now dripping red. Nutt gurgled, crimson bubbling up in his mouth and leaking from the entry wound where the Queen’s sword still remained firmly planted. Mica placed an elegantly manicured hand on Nutt’s shoulder, leaning forward so her mouth hovered next to his ear.

“Repeat it. Maybe I’ll understand this time?”

With a vicious jerk, Mica tore the thin blade from his oesophagus, a trail of blood flicking across the court, decorating the white marble with a delicate splash of deep, cruel red. She raised a heeled shoe and in one graceful movement caught Lord Nutt under the chin in a swift lash of her foot and, with a sharp crack, his head flew back, beady eyes staring up to the marbled dome roof. In another quick flash of her blade she took his vulnerable position as a chance to neatly sever his head from his body.

A stunned silence hung in the air of the court.

“Well then. Does anyone have anything to add?”

Nutt’s corpse slumped to the side beside her and oozed blood onto the floor. Mica cracked a smile, eyes twisted and gleaming.

“Didn’t fucking think so.”

Her heels clicked along the marble tiles, the crushed velvet train of her dress becoming sodden in the large pool of blood on the floor of the court. As she made her way back to her throne, her steps measured and sultry, she scooped the lord’s head from the floor where it had rolled after it was swiftly decapitated. Fingers traced over the features delicately, sharp nails hovering over soft flesh, like a surgeon considering their first cut.

Her high giggle cut through the stagnant air in the court as she dug her razor sharp manicure into the mouth of the late Lord Nutt, carving out the rapidly stiffening muscle. With a few skilled twists of her long fingers she held the cadaver’s tongue in her hands.

“Someone fetch me a servant.”

Silence. Mica’s head snapped up.

“Now.”

A courtier ran from the room after a moment of hesitation, returning promptly with a serf.

“Take this head and nail it to the post in the main square. And you,” she pointed at the courtier, who paled under her attention. “Your hat.”

She draped the tongue delicately over the cloth, fingers dripping blood.

“This shall have a place of honor in the entrance hall,” Mica declared, raising the hat for all to see. A second servant hastily hurried over, taking the gory piece from the Queen with a bow. “Thus all shall remember what has transpired today, and know that thy Queen can be merciful.”

The servant blanched at the bloody scene before him but noting the dangerous look in Mica’s eyes quickly spurred him on, taking the cloth with the tongue gingerly in his hands and leaving hurriedly, slipping a little in the viscera left on the floor.

Watching the servant leave Mica ascended gracefully onto her gilded throne, legs crossed at the ankle and arm raised in a grandiose manner, head held aloft. Next to her sat Ryan, crown perched jauntily atop his head, face splashed with blood from the execution and eyes glazed over. His gaze weighed heavily on her, and she turned to meet his eyes.

‘ _I think I’m in love,_ ’ Ryan thought, taking one of the Queen’s bloody hands and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.


End file.
